


Stolen Kisses

by PR Zed (przed)



Category: Take That
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-18
Updated: 2013-01-18
Packaged: 2017-11-25 22:08:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/643462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/przed/pseuds/PR%20Zed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Robbie and Mark make a bet.</p><p>Written for the 2012 <a href="http://takethatslash.livejournal.com/">takethatslash</a> Secret Santa.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stolen Kisses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dracothelizard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dracothelizard/gifts).



"Adam Ant," says Rob.

"Straight. George Michael," Mark shoots back.

"Straight."

"Really?"

"You know something I don't, Markie?"

"No. I just always thought..." He trails off without completing what it is he thought and snuggles down further under his bed's slightly threadbare coverlet until Rob can only see his eyes and a shock of spiky hair.

They're stuck here, in this cold room in a Romford B&B, each in their own broken-backed single bed, the room so narrow that they could reach out and touch each other. But they don't. Touch each other, that is. Instead, they're playing a round of Straight or Gay, a stupid game no one can remember coming up with but that they all play on the road. It makes Nigel cross when he catches them at it, and Rob is in favour of anything that makes Nigel cross.

"Your turn," Mark says, making Rob realize he's drifted off.

"Gaz," he says, feeling slightly naughty because he's just broken one of Nigel's rules. "Never admit you're straight or gay, boys," he'll say. "Keeping 'em guessing is going to be good for business."

Mark's mouth opens slightly in shock, and Rob wonders if he's going to object. But then he smiles, a cheeky, conspiratorial smile miles from the innocent one he's on his way to becoming famous for.

"Straight." And then he proves he's as much of a rule-breaker as Rob. "Jason."

"Jay doesn't count. He already told us everything, right from the start. Pick again."

"Oh, alright. Howard."

"Gay."

"Now you're just being daft," Mark blurts out. And he's not wrong. They've both seen the rate at which Howard pulls girls. But there's something else Rob has seen as well.

"Have you ever seen him look at Jason?"

"Hmmm," Mark says, in a way that tells Rob he's seen the same thing he has.

"I'll bet Howard could be convinced to shag a bloke," Rob says. "Even one that's not Jason."

"How much?" Mark says. He's poked his head out of the covers now, and he's lying on his side, head on one hand, staring at Rob speculatively.

"How much what?" Rob is temporarily thrown by the question.

"How much would you bet Howard could be convinced to shag a bloke?"

"Fifty quid," Rob says, grabbing an amount out of the air, even as he feels this game has rapidly spun out of his control.

Mark snorts. "Where is either of us going to get fifty quid, the way Nigel's paying us?"

"Or isn't paying us, as the case may be." They'd been reduced to combining pocket change to get a Flake before this evening's performance, then had let a fit couple of Essex girls buy them a pint after the show before Nigel packed them all off to this tatty B&B.

"Don't remind me." He nods at Rob. "What would you really bet? What would you bet I can't get How into bed?"

"You?" Rob nearly chokes at the thought of little Markie tumbling tall and strong Howard into bed. Because as much as they hang out together, this is one thing they've never discussed. Whether either of them fancies boys. Whether they fancy each other. Whether they fancy anyone else in the band. "You want to shag Howard?"

"Howard's bloody gorgeous, Rob. Tell me you wouldn't shag him if you had the chance."

And Rob can't deny it.

"So, what would you bet?"

Rob can't believe he's taking this seriously, that he's actually thinking about what he wants to bet, what he'd like to win, what he's willing to lose. But he is taking it seriously, and he comes up with what seems like the perfect bet.

"Loser does anything the winner wants for a week."

"Anything?" Mark looks at him suspiciously.

"Anything not illegal," Rob hedges.

"Or dangerous," Mark insists. 

"Or dangerous," Rob agrees. That still leaves him a fuck of a lot of leeway. Leeway he may just use to explore this new, almost wicked side of Mark. 

"Done," Mark says. "What about a deadline?"

"Christmas Eve," Rob says immediately. "That gives you two weeks, and I've got an idea what I want for Christmas if I win."

" _If_ you win."

"Oh, I'll win," he says, cocky as always, even though he's wondering if this isn't one bet he'd rather lose. He's wondering how brave Mark actually is. He's wondering exactly what Markie might ask him to do if _he_ won. 

Mark's only answer is a snort and a smile. Rob falls asleep imagining what Mark's kisses would taste like, all chocolate and lager and warmth.

* * *

It had been a brilliant rehearsal. Tough—they were always tough, Nigel made sure of that—but in the best possible way. Jay had finally cracked the back flip, and Howard couldn't have been prouder of him. Mark had started doing shoulder spins that rivalled Jason's, Robbie had managed all the routines today without Nigel giving him a bollocking, and even Gaz had kept up with the steps without tripping over his own feet. 

"Who wants to go out for a curry?" Howard asks, hoping they'll all take him up on the offer, hoping Jason, in particular will come. Because he feels exhilarated, his head buzzing and his skin tingling with anticipation, and he doesn't want this day to end.

But Jason says he's tired, Gary slopes off home to write some more songs in his bedroom, and Rob fobs him off with a grin and a wink.

"What about you, Markie?" He isn't holding out much hope. Mark doesn't usually like going to restaurants, but he surprises Howard.

"Sounds brilliant, How," he says, and then gives him the sort of smile he usually only reserves for Rob. In fact, now that he thinks about it, Mark's been smiling at him rather a lot the last week. Though maybe he's imagining things and it's just what Mark's like this close to Christmas. He and Rob are really just kids, after all. He wouldn't be surprised if Mark still believes in Father Christmas.

He wishes Jason would smile at him like that. No use thinking like that, though. If wishes were horses, as his Nan would always say.

The two of them bound out of the studio and set off for Howard's favourite restaurant in the area. A few block's walk, and they're there. 

Howard has a wonderful time. A surprisingly wonderful time, given that Jay's not there. Howard doesn't often get a chance to talk alone with Mark. They're the two quiet ones in the band. Gary's more assured, Rob's louder, and Jason is never at a loss for words. But given a chance, Howard finds that Mark has a lot to say for himself. And he's quite happy to listen to what Howard has to say too. Howard's always enjoyed being with the band, these lads he's thrown his lot in with, but outside of sharing hotel rooms with Jason, this is the closest he's felt to any of them.

Howard finishes his meal with coffee and a slice of gateaux that definitely would never make it past Nigel's dietary restrictions for them all, and Mark doesn't once complain about him taking the extra time. As they leave the restaurant, snow is starting to fall, giving the street an icing sugar dusting and making it feel even more like Christmas is just around the corner. Howard feels a tremendous flush of well being wash over him, and he throws a friendly arm around Mark.

And that's when it all goes wrong.

"Dougie?" Mark looks up with him, giving him a smile that seems equal parts affection and anxiety.

"Yeah, Mark," Howard says, wondering what could possibly make Mark look like that after the lovely time they've had.

Mark answers his question, but not with words. Before Howard can react, he stands up on his toes, grabs the front of Howard's jacket, and kisses him.

* * *

It's late, and Jason's not expecting visitors. They have rehearsal tomorrow and another gig in two days, and Christmas is coming and he's barely started his shopping and he's skint anyway, and the only thing he wants to do tonight is sleep. But he answers the knock at the door anyway. It's probably Justin wanting to brag about his latest conquest. Or one of his other brothers wanting him to sort out some family drama he's far too tired to deal with tonight.

But when he open the door, it isn't one of the Orange clan waiting on his threshold. It's Howard.

"I think Mark just tried to pull me," Howard blurts out, even as he looks like he's just had his long-standing view of how the universe works completely upended. "And I didn't even know he liked blokes."

"Well, I know he likes Robbies," Jason says as he waves Howard into his flat. He's glad Simon's out and he has the flat to himself tonight, for a number of reasons.

"How do you know he tried to pull you? Maybe he was just being friendly. Markie's always friendly." Jason has quickly got used to having Mark squash onto his lap at the slightest opportunity. "The lad's like a puppy. He's got no sense of personal space."

"He came out for a curry. He usually hates going to restaurants."

"Maybe he was just hungry."

"He sat through coffee and pud without squirming."

"Maybe he's finally developed some patience."

"He kissed me."

"Markie kisses everyone. Bloody hell, How, even Gaz kisses everyone."

"He tried to stick his tongue down my throat!" Howard's been reasonably calm up to this point, but now his voice cracks, his eyes go wide, and Jason sees an anguished panic in his expression.

"Oh." They're an affectionate lot, the five of them, but their usual kisses between band mates don't usually extend to tongue. Still... "It couldn't have been that bad, How. He's a beautiful boy."

"It wasn't that bad. It was worse. It was like kissing my brother, Jay." Howard leans forward and puts his head in his hands. "My _little_ brother."

Jason sits for a minute and thinks. This needs to be handled delicately, for Mark's sake as much as Howard's.

"What did _you_ do?" he finally asks.

"When?"

"When he stuck his tongue down your throat?" Jason feels a bubble of laughter well up from his belly at the ridiculousness of that statement, but he stomps down on it hard. A fit of the giggles will only make Howard bolt.

"I didn't do anything."

"You didn't hit him?"

"No!" Howard looks up, his expression offended. "I wouldn't do that to Markie. I wouldn't do that to _anyone_."

 _Good lad_ , Jason thinks. He's always reckoned Howard didn't have a prejudiced bone in his body—he enjoys playing the gay clubs far too much—but he'd needed to be sure. 

"Then what did you do?"

"I...didn't do anything. I froze." Howard's eyes dart around the flat, as if he might find the answer to his current problem in the confines of Jason's living room.

"What did Mark do?"

"He stopped kissing me." He swallows hard. "Then he pulled back, got this weird look on his face, and ran."

"That's good."

"That's good?" Howard's voice rises to a hysterical squeak. "Markie running away from me is good?"

"Well, it means he thinks pulling you is as bad an idea as you do."

"Oh." Jason could see Howard's shoulders relax and his breathing slow as he pondered that one. "I suppose that _is_ good."

"'Course it is. You don't want him trying it on again, do you?"

"No!" Howard looks slightly ill. "Christ, no."

"Well, I think you're safe." He pats Howard on the shoulder. "Care for a cuppa?"

Howard nods, and Jason goes off to fill the kettle. Waiting for the water to boil, for the tea to steep, gives Jason as chance to think about what he should do next. 

Well, he knows what he _wants_ to do, but he doesn't know if it's a good idea. Howard's had one shock from a band mate tonight. He might not enjoy another. And if Jason's wrong, then Howard might just overlook his better nature and hit him. But Jason doesn't think he's wrong. He's seen the way Howard looks at him, seen him admiring him in the dance studio, seen him from the sidelines when he's taking a solo dance turn. Jason recognizes that look, because he suspects he looks the same when he watches Howard do a back arrow spring, when he watches him get ready for a gig, exposing far more skin than he'd do without Nigel's urging.

He fancies Howard. He thinks Howard fancies him. What it comes down to is, does he have the bottle to find out if he's right?

He nearly talks himself out of saying anything, doing anything, but then he thinks about little Markie having the guts to try it on with Howard. It didn't work out, and Jason suspects he's going to have to have a talk with Mark to make sure he's okay, but he still tried. If Mark can risk his feelings, risk everything, so can Jason Orange.

He pours the tea, adds the exact amount of milk and sugar Howard likes to his—Jason has been paying attention to details like that almost from the start—and then he makes his way to the living room.

He hands the mug to Howard without a word, then sits down beside him. Howard sips at the hot tea, and Jason can see the tension in his spine, his shoulders. He wants nothing more than to reach out, to run a hand down those taut muscles until Howard relaxes. But he doesn't trust himself to stop with only offering that simple comfort, so he sits on his hands for now.

The tea is nearly all gone when Howard places the mug on the coffee table, leans back, and lets out a tremendous sigh.

"Thanks, Jay." He reaches out and puts an arm around Jason. "I needed that."

Jason feels himself tense under Howard's loosely slung arm. He hopes Howard won't notice, but of course Howard does. He looks at Jason, his face too close, his expression equal parts hurt and curiosity.

"What's wrong, Jay?"

Jason finds his mouth has suddenly dried out, and his pulse is pounding in his throat. He swallows, and tries to find the right words.

"The thing is, Dougie, Mark's not the only one who fancies blokes."

"I know that." Howard lets out a dismissive laugh. "Christ, you gave us practically everything but a list of your boyfriends that day in Nigel's office."

"No, it's more than that." Jason swallows again, his throat feeling like sandpaper. "I mean, Mark's not the only one who fancies _you_."

Howard doesn't say anything, he doesn't pull away, he doesn't pull a face, and he doesn't take his arm off Jason's shoulder. If anything, he holds more tightly to Jason's arm, ensuring that Jason can't escape even if he wanted to. Not that he wants to.

Jason takes a deep breath, finds the calm space inside himself, then he leans in.

Howard's lips are softer than he expected, and he can feel the beginnings of his beard scratching his skin. Jason feels Howard's mouth open, feels him take a breath, and then they both deepen the kiss at once. Howard's mouth is hot from the tea, and Jason closes his eyes, concentrating only on the way Howard's hand is clutching the back of his head, on the way Howard's curls feel in his fist.

But no kiss can last forever, not even this kiss, and eventually Jason opens his hand and eases away from Howard, ignoring the soft, dejected sound How makes as he pulls away.

"Was that like kissing your brother?"Jason asks.

Howard shakes his head, and his expression isn't panicked or nervous or the slightest bit hesitant. It's positively smug. Jason wonders if he's about to get far more than he ever bargained for.

"Would you like to do it again?"

Howard nods, but this time he doesn't wait for Jason to move first. This time he leans in and wraps his big, bluff hands around Jason's shoulder like he's never going to let him go.

* * *

It takes Mark and hour and a half and three buses to get to Stoke. An hour and a half to think what a cock up he's made of things. And all because he pushed Rob to make that bet. That bloody stupid bet.

By the time he gets to Rob's, it's nearly midnight and all the lights are off in the house. Mark nearly panics, but then he notices a faint blue light in Rob's window. Rob must be up and playing a video game. He _must_ be.

Mark steps into the garden, grabs a handful of pebbles, and throws them at Rob's window. There's no answer, no movement, no light goes on in the room. A bubble of hysteria wells up inside him. What if Rob's asleep? What if he's out with his mates? Rob has to be home. He just has to.

Mark grabs more pebbles and throws them at the window. 

Rob's face appears at the window, frowning, though the frown disappears when he sees Mark. He throws open the window and leans out. "Mark!" He brings his voice down to a harsh whisper. "What the fuck are you doing?"

Mark doesn't say anything. He just stares up, trying to make his mouth move, to find his voice. It had been so important to talk to Rob, but now he doesn't know what to say. 

Rob seems to recognize there's something wrong. He leans out of his first floor window, his hand stretched out.

"C'mon up, Markie."

Mark pulls himself up the drainpipe until he can reach Rob's hand, then let's himself be hauled up and through the window. He lands awkwardly on the floor, and lies there until Rob hoists him up and steers him to the bed, strewn with rumpled sheets and crumpled clothing. Rob clears a spot for them both, then sits beside him. Mark sits silent for a long minute, staring at Rob and trying to find the words to say what he feels.

"You win," he finally blurts out.

"I win what?" Rob blinks at him and squints as if he's not thinking too well himself.

"The bet, Rob. You win the bet." The fucking bet. He wishes he'd never made that bet, wishes he'd kept his gob shut when Rob made that comment about Howard. But he hadn't.

Rob looks more awake now, and he sits up straighter.

"What happened?" Rob asks.

"I thought it would be fun, a bit of a lark. But it wasn't. It wasn't fun at all." Mark stops and takes a big gulp of air. "Dougie looked _horrified_ , Rob. Completely horrified." He looks down at his own hands, twisting in his lap. "I felt pretty fucking horrified myself."

"For fuck's sake, Markie, what did you do?" He can see the nightmare situations playing out behind Rob's eyes. At least he can spare him that.

"It was nowt like that." He bites his lip. "I kissed him."

"How was horrified that you kissed him?" Rob snorts. "You can't be that bad a kisser, Mark." He's laughing, and Mark is suddenly annoyed with him.

"This is serious, Rob." He gives Rob a punch in the arm to emphasize his point.

"I _am_ serious." Rob does his best serious face, but Mark can tell he's just taking the piss. "Did you use tongue?"

"No! I mean yes, but it wasn't like that."

"Of course it was like that. You were meant to be getting him into bed."

Mark can't argue with that, even though he now knows it was the worst idea in the history of bad ideas. The second worst idea seems to have been coming to Rob for sympathy.

"I should get going," Mark says, even though he's got no idea how he's going to get home. The buses have probably stopped running by now, and the change jingling in his pocket isn't nearly enough for a taxi home. He tries to stand, but Rob pulls him back down and keeps a firm hold on his hand.

"No, don't go, Markie." He grins. "Why don't you show me?"

"Show you what?"

"Show me how you kissed Howard." Rob's grin goes from slight to demented. "I can let you know if it's horrific or not."

"Fucking hell, Rob…" Mark has no words for how bad an idea that is, even if a small part of him is telling him that it might actually be a very good idea. He shakes his head and tries harder to pull away.

Rob holds on even tighter.

"C'mon, Markie. You said I won, didn't you?"

"Yeah, I suppose," he says as he tries to shake off Rob's hand.

"And the bet was the loser does whatever the winner wants for a week. And right now I want you to show me how you kissed Howard."

He's gone to hell, Mark thinks. He's somehow died without noticing and gone to whatever level of hell is in charge of inflicting excruciating embarrassment. But while he's thinking that, Rob moves in close, knocks him flat onto the bed, and hovers over him.

"Surely I'm not that bad," Rob says. And no he isn't. He absolutely isn't that bad. In fact he's lovely, and before tonight Mark's thought more than once about kissing him. 

He opens his mouth to reply, and suddenly Rob is kissing him. Or he's kissing Rob. He's not quite sure which. There is tongue and teeth and heat and it's far from horrific. It lasts forever and not nearly long enough, and then Rob is pulling away, looking down at him with his brow furrowed and his mouth a thin line. He stares at him like that for what seems like ages, until Mark starts to squirm and waits for the bottom to fall out again, waits for Rob to react like Howard did.

Then Rob opens his mouth.

"Howard Donald is a fucking idiot," he says in a way that will allow for no contradiction.

Mark opens his mouth to gasp, and Rob grins, and then they're both wrapped around each other, rolling on the bed and laughing like mad things. They're kissing again before they've even caught their breath and Mark thinks that yeah, this is one bet he's quite happy to have lost.


End file.
